


And Roses

by pringlesaremydivision



Category: Numb3rs
Genre: Gun Kink, Gunplay, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 02:18:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13137057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pringlesaremydivision/pseuds/pringlesaremydivision
Summary: “I can’t stop thinking about it,” Charlie repeats, breath hot against Don’s thigh.Charlie's got a thing for Don's gun.





	And Roses

**Author's Note:**

> ENORMOUS thanks to [MythicallySnappy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MythicallySnappy/pseuds/MythicallySnappy) and [JennaLee](http://archiveofourown.org/users/JennaLee/pseuds/JennaLee) for the betas when this isn't even their fandom!
> 
> For the, like, three people who are still in this fandom - Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals. <3

Don’s not sure what he expects to see when he steps out of the shower, damp hair still dripping onto his shoulders, worn grey towel wrapped loosely around his waist, but Charlie sitting on the edge of his bed, turning his Glock over and over in his hands, studying it from every angle—that definitely isn’t it. Knowing Charlie has had firearms training, that he knows better than to fool around with a loaded gun, that he’s not an idiot in general— it all flies out of his mind in the sudden rush of panic he feels, and he charges into the room, the hand that’s not holding his towel outstretched to disarm his brother.

“Jesus Christ, Charlie, put that down, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

When Charlie looks up at him, Don has to take a step back. Charlie’s eyes are blazing, pupils blown wide, and the look he gives Don makes Don feel twice as naked as he already is. He drops the towel in shaky-handed shock and makes his wobbly way over to his brother, cock filling with every step.

“Charlie,” he breathes, and he hasn’t even sat down all the way before Charlie’s leaning over and attacking his mouth, hot and hard and messy, kisses like he’s starving and hasn’t had Don for months instead of the week or so it’s actually been. Don’s hyper-aware of the gun that’s still in Charlie’s hand, even as he spots the clip on his bedside table, and the cold press of the metal against his thigh is as thrilling as it is dangerous.

“Charlie,” he tries again, between kisses that feel like an assault, “Charlie, why do you have that, you shouldn’t—you know better—”

“Did you know,” Charlie answers, breaking off to tug his shirt off, never letting go of the gun— Don’s stomach flips over and over to see it waving in the air like it’s a toy while Charlie struggles with pulling the shirt over his head— “that every time I see you pull your gun, every single goddamn time, Donnie, I get hard? Even if it means you’re in trouble, even if i’m terrified for you, I’m still like a rock in my pants.” He finally gets his shirt off and presses himself against Don, bare chest to bare chest, and trails the muzzle up Don’s side, making him shiver. “What the fuck is that about, Don?”

“Adrenaline,” Don says, immediately, but Charlie shakes his head, leans down to scrape his teeth against Don’s collarbone before following the line his mouth took with the muzzle. The metal’s nearly skin-warm now, and Don knows, Don _knows_ , it isn’t loaded, but he can’t stop fucking shaking, and he’s never seen this side of Charlie and he doesn’t know what it means for _him_ that he’s so turned on he thinks he might actually die.

“No, I know adrenaline. This isn’t it. Well, not just it, anyway. It’s _you_ with this gun. I don’t get hard when Colby pulls his gun, or David.” He chuckles, breath warm against Don’s chest. “Maybe Liz, a little.” Don snorts at that. “But it’s nothing like what I feel when I see you wrap your hands around this gun, when I see your finger on the trigger. God, the last time you took me to the shooting range, I—”

Don remembers, suddenly. Remembers barely getting Charlie into the car before Charlie was all over him, predatory and desperate all at once, and Don had thanked god for the tinted windows in his SUV as he felt Charlie’s warm, wet mouth encompass him, leaning over from the passenger side in the basement parking garage of the fucking FBI.

Adrenaline, he’d thought at the time. He remembered when he first started at the Academy, when pushing a clip into his training weapon had the same visceral satisfaction as pushing his dick into Charlie’s ass or some girl’s sweet cunt.

But there’s something more at play here and Don’s head is swimming because he can’t quite wrap his head around it, can’t figure out what Charlie wants from him. It’s nothing new, feeling stupid around Charlie, but he wants to understand this more than he’s ever wanted to understand anything.

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” Charlie says, looking up at him, eyes pleading. Don can feel Charlie’s boxer-clad erection against his bare hip and he arches up, dying for more contact, but Charlie pulls away. A low whine comes, unbidden, from the back of Don’s throat.

“What—what do you want, buddy? Tell me, and I’ll give it to you, just touch me, Chuck, please—”

Charlie drags the barrel of the gun up Don’s cock slowly, so slowly, and all of Don’s breath leaves his body in a giant gust that leaves him dizzy.

“Fuck me with it, Don.”

“Jesus Christ,” Don whispers. “Jesus Christ.”

Charlie slithers off the bed, settles himself on his knees between Don’s spread legs, and flicks his tongue out, messy licks lapping up the precome that’s dripping down Don’s dick. Then, when Don looks down, Charlie slowly moves his mouth from Don’s body to the gun, running his tongue delicately around the muzzle.

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” Charlie repeats, breath hot against Don’s thigh, and Don’s resolve, paper thin to begin with when it comes to Charlie, crumbles.

“The things I do for you,” he mutters. “The things you do _to_ me, fuck.” He's hot and achy all over, dick throbbing in time with his racing heartbeat, and Charlie's eyes are so dark he feels like he's falling. He runs a hand through Charlie's curls, pushes him away from the gun, captures his lips in a rough kiss that tastes like metal. 

“Come up here and spread your legs, honey. Lemme slick you up, get you nice and open so you can take my gun.” Charlie scrambles up on the bed, shedding his boxers with a shiver and a groan as Don reaches for the lube in the bedside drawer. He slicks his fingers up as Charlie lets his knees fall open, expanse of tan skin and dark curls sending a shiver down Don's spine. Charlie's erection bobs in the air, pearly wet at the tip, and Don can't help but run a hand down the length of it, grinning at Charlie's hiss of pleasure.

He coats his fingers with the lube, dips his fingers between Charlie’s spread legs and pushes in slowly, two fingers at once. Charlie likes the burn, and Don can never get enough of that tight heat gripping him. They kiss as Don preps him, Don’s fingers fucking Charlie with precision, each thrust rubbing over Charlie’s prostate just enough to make him arch up and whine, never enough pressure to make him fall apart. Charlie’s mouth is hot and wet and Don drinks up the noises he makes like they’re the only thing keeping him alive.

“Come on,” Charlie finally says, pulling away breathless, lips wet and bruised, “come on, fuck me, Donnie.”

“Thought I was,” Don responds, nibbling at Charlie’s lower lip, eyes crinkling in a smile.

“You know what I mean.” Charlie wriggles out from under Don, flipping over so he’s on his hands and knees, ass in the air. Don’s mouth goes dry at the sight, and he gropes blindly on the bed until he finds the gun where Charlie had dropped it.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this, Charlie, god, you know how much trouble I could get in—”

“There’s something in the FBI regs against fucking somebody with your service weapon?” Charlie looks back at him from over his shoulder, lips curved up in an infuriating smirk, and Don digs his fingers into Charlie’s hip in retaliation. Undeterred, Charlie continues, “I think they’d have more of a problem with you fucking your brother, honestly.”

“Oh, is that how it’s gonna be?” Don tugs Charlie up by the hair, grinning at how pliable his body curves up and into Don’s. When Charlie’s up on his knees, back against Don’s chest, Don takes a moment to rut his dick into the slick channel between Charlie’s cheeks, letting his eyes close on a groan. Then he refocuses, pressing the barrel of the gun into the hollow of Charlie’s hip and making his way up Charlie’s torso, up and up, letting it rest in the notch of his collarbone, before trailing it up Charlie’s neck and against his jaw.

Charlie’s shaking like he’s about to come apart in Don’s arms, all traces of teasing fallen away with the slide of black metal up his body, but Don isn’t satisfied yet. He lifts the gun to Charlie’s mouth, nudges the barrel inside, wonders if it tastes like gun oil and propellant or like salt from the sweat on Charlie’s body. “Suck it good, baby, huh? Let me see if that smart mouth is actually good for something. Suck it like you’re sucking me off.”

Charlie chokes out a moan that comes out garbled around the gun, and Don watches his cheeks hollow as he sucks the barrel into his mouth. His eyes flutter shut as Don presses the gun further between his lips, and he’s flushed and filthy, drool dribbling down the corners of his mouth. It’s the dirtiest, most debauched thing Don’s ever seen.

“So gorgeous, Charlie, look at you. You like that, honey?” He can’t hide the reverence in his tone, the awe at what he’s got in his arms.

“Donnie,” Charlie whimpers, tears in the corners of his eyes, voice wrecked like he’s been deep-throating Don for hours instead of sucking down two and a half inches of gunmetal for a few minutes. “Put it in me, please.”

“Bend over, sweetheart. Spread yourself for me.”

Don pulls the gun out of Charlie’s mouth unceremoniously, hearing metal click against teeth, and Charlie topples forward with a cry that muffles itself in the pillow beneath his head. Shaky hands skate across the rounded globes of Charlie’s ass, long fingers prying slick cheeks apart, exposing Charlie’s hole, stretched and wet and grasping at nothing. Don presses his thumb against the muscle, lets the tip dip inside, feels Charlie hot and needy all around him.

“You ready?”

The only answer is a long, drawn-out groan and Charlie spreading himself wider, pushing his ass higher in the air. Don checks one more time to make sure there’s no clip inside, nothing chambered—it doesn’t matter that he’s checked half a dozen times before, doesn’t matter that the muzzle is still wet with Charlie’s spit—and when he’s satisfied it’s all empty, he checks again just to be sure.

Then he drizzles extra lube on the barrel, presses the tip to Charlie’s hole, and watches Charlie fall apart.

Don’s stretched him out so well it slides in like a hot knife through butter, and he watches in fascination as Charlie’s asshole clenches around the metal, looking for all the world like his body is trying to suck the gun in deeper. It’s barely in half an inch, just enough to stretch Charlie open, but Charlie’s shaking so hard it’s like he’s got Don’s dick inside him, splitting him open.

“How’s it feel, Charlie?” He rubs his dick over Charlie’s thighs, smearing wetness against his skin, watching it shine in the curtain-filtered sunlight.

“Feels incredible,” Charlie gasps, “give me more, Donnie, please, put it all in me, give it to me.” He cants his hips back and Don groans at the sight, at Charlie so desperate he can’t wait for Don to give him what he wants. Don obliges, can’t do anything but, presses the gun slow and steady into Charlie’s writhing body until the trigger guard butts up against Charlie’s perineum.

“More,” Charlie whines, and Don rubs a finger around Charlie’s hole, laughs low when Charlie bucks back against him.

“Sorry, honey, that’s all there is. Not gonna fill you up like I do. You want my cock, buddy?”

Charlie moans, shakes his head. “Not yet. Fuck me with it, come on.”

Don sets up a good pace but can’t bear to make it as fast, as brutal as he would if it were his own cock fucking Charlie. He can’t imagine how different it must feel inside, cold unyielding metal instead of the give of flesh. The gun is nowhere near as long as Don but he must be doing something right because Charlie’s gasping into the pillow and bucking back to meet Don’s thrusts.

“Dirty little fuck,” Don says, low and heated, and he reaches under Charlie to grab his dick, fisting it loosely, feeling it pulse in his hand. “You close?” Charlie shudders and chokes out Don’s name, and Don presses a kiss to Charlie’s shoulder as he pulls his hand away, resting it on Charlie’s hip instead. He knows from the tautness of the muscles in Charlie’s back, his thighs, that he’s hovering on the edge, and Don twists the gun sideways inside him, letting Charlie feel it from another angle. The sharp intake of breath from beneath him is exhilarating.

“You think you can come like that, Chuck? Think you can come on my gun? Come on, baby, fuck yourself on it. Make yourself come, sweetheart, that’s good, that’s so good. Come for me, Charlie.”

“Don,” Charlie gasps, “fuck, Don, yes, give it—yes, fuck, _yes_!” And he’s shaking apart, spurting white onto the sheets below.

Don strokes his back through the aftershocks, pulling the gun out slowly as Charlie’s breathing normalizes, and he watches as Charlie starts to waver, arching down towards the bed. Don swats his ass softly, stopping him.

“Nuh-uh. Not yet. Keep that sweet ass up for me, honey.” Don clenches Charlie's hip with one hand, the other working his dick in furious strokes. He's desperate to get off and he knows it's not going to take long, not with Charlie spread out like this under him, loose and warm, his to use. Don rubs his cock against Charlie's rim, feeling the tension in his spine build. He does it again, Charlie murmuring encouragement under him, and when he presses inside, it’s only a handful of thrusts before he’s coming, Charlie clenching around him, milking him dry. The pleasure is dizzying, and he has to hold on to Charlie even harder to keep himself from falling over. 

When he comes back to himself, he realizes everything is a spectacular mess—his sheets, his gun, the backs of his brother’s thighs after he pulls out, all slick and sticky with sweat and come. Years of training kick in, telling him to clean his gun now now _now_ , but Charlie’s sound of protest when he moves to get off the bed has him stopping in his tracks.

“I’ll be right back, buddy, I promise,” he says softly. In response, Charlie reaches blindly over the side of the bed, coming up with the towel Don had dropped, and hands it to him wordlessly.

Don looks at the gun, then back at Charlie, and sighs. It’s going against every bit of training on gun care that he has, but Charlie looks soft and warm and Don’s knees are weak and hell, the Glock had probably seen worse. He takes the towel, gives the gun a cursory wipedown, then towels off Charlie’s back before dropping the towel back on the floor and setting the gun gently on the nightstand, next to the clip.

He settles down on the bed and tugs Charlie to him, his brother pliant and loose in his arms.

“The things I do for you,” he says again, pressing a kiss between Charlie’s shoulderblades, skin warm against his lips. Charlie’s soft laugh, sleepy and sated, is the last thing he hears before he drifts off.


End file.
